


From The Journal of Cpt Thos. Ryan, 95th Light Division

by rain_sleet_snow



Series: The Trials and Tribulations of Cpt. Thos. Ryan, 95th Light Division [2]
Category: HEYER Georgette - Works, Primeval
Genre: Crossover, Epistolary, F/M, this got rather out of hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rain_sleet_snow/pseuds/rain_sleet_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being Extracts from the Personal Writings of Cpt. Thos. Ryan, late of His Majesty’s Army, who was Wounded in the late Engagement at Waterloo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From The Journal of Cpt Thos. Ryan, 95th Light Division

**Author's Note:**

> This... really kind of got out of hand, and can be lain at the door of my sudden discovery of a Regency epistolary RP (now sadly defunct) which was absolutely hilarious to read and inspired me hardcore. (I should note that nothing, other than the idea of writing a Regency character’s journal, was borrowed from this RP.) Approx. 10,300 words. Jon and his family belong to fredbassett. Fred & Luka read it over for me. A teamfest fic.

_19 th July, 1815_

 

            Jonathan Lyle is a damnable wretch, and when next I have the opportunity, I shall wring his scrawny neck. I should like to know what gave him the right to have me transported, willy-nilly, from a perfectly salubrious lodgings in Bruxelles where I was recuperating – and where the landlady had not had the dubious benefit of Jon’s acquaintance and therefore did not require three weeks’ rent in advance – to his mother’s house in London. I had not the slightest wish to be transported to his mother’s house in London, even if she is currently absent. I am only a little acquainted with Mrs Rossington, and if she is even the slightest bit like her son she will be a ~~volatile and dangerous creature~~ uncomfortable person to share lodgings with! Nor do I wish to sponge off Jon and his relatives! I am not plump in the pocket, this is true, but I am perfectly capable of supporting myself for some little time until my wounds from the Battle are healed, and if necessary I do have a Family who may assist me.

 

            Furthermore, I am unfamiliar with Jon’s neighbours, but they are equally abominable. A lad of eleven years old put a cricket ball through the front room window this morning and broke a Sèvres bowl, a gift from Mrs Rossington’s previous husband. I attempted to chastise the lad, but was forestalled by his sister, a schoolroom miss of fourteen or thereabouts with the most unpleasant glare I have encountered since I accidentally endangered my sister’s engagement. Wilcox – who is Mrs Rossington’s butler – informs me that the young lady in question is Miss Elizabeth Lester, and her brother is Master Nicholas, and that they are both Fiends from Below.

 

           This may be coming it a little strong, but I confess that I am in no very good temper with them myself. The cricket ball reminded me most forcibly of the cannon crashing through the walls of Hougoumont, and in my rush to discover the culprit I strained my confounded arm and shoulder. It is my sincere hope that Miss Elizabeth and Master Nicholas’s father thrashes them soundly for their escapade.

 

           Jonathan Denton Lyle, if you are reading this _[the writing descends into scrawls and blotches, in which some exceedingly crude language can be discerned only with the utmost difficulty]_

 

 

_20 th July, 1815_

 

            Master James Lester has called on me to apologise for his siblings’ misdeeds. I am to understand that his father, being a personage of some importance in the Government, is at present on the Continent, leaving young James to be the Man of the House, as he says with a glitter in his eye that assures me that he realises how ridiculous it is for a boy of thirteen to take on such a charge. He says that his brother Nicky is deplorably lively and his sister Liz disposed to be protective at all costs, which is why I had so much trouble with them, but that Miss Brown – the governess – has given them both such a scolding that Nicky retired early to bed with sore ears and no supper, and Liz sends her heartiest apologies.

 

            I found myself quite reconciled to my neighbours.  I hope Sir James Lester is like his older son.

 

_22 nd July, 1815_

 

            Nota Bene: send Jon rude letter for apprising Sir Vincent Talgarth of my whereabouts and encouraging him to bring his parcel of layabouts and, worse, Darracott, to cheer the invalid’s vacant hours. Cannot drink Darracott under the table. Have never been able to drink Darracott under the table. No-one can drink Darracott under the table. Should like to know who told me I could drink Darracott under the table.

 

            Probably Jon.

 

_24 th July, 1815_

 

            Incessant parade of people, animals and baggage in and out of Lester house. The habit of listening to servants’ gossip is a regrettable one; it has now been some considerable time since the Peninsula and Talbot the second footman is not a paysano brimful with useful information. However, his knowledge of the local ground is analogous and it is thanks to him that I even begin to understand the situation.

 

            It appears that Sir James is in possession of not only three children, but a wife and an orphaned niece – Miss Abigail Maitland, a young lady who must be on the verge of her first Season. Apparently, Lady Lester took Miss Maitland (who does not in the slightest resemble the family except in a certain stubbornness of expression, being small, fine-boned and very fair) down to Sir James’ country seat, as her companion on a brief and peaceful holiday, during which she intended to visit her Family without the encumbrance of her Children. However, Lady Lester reckoned without Miss Maitland’s keen interest in the science of naturalism, and there was an Unfortunate Incident involving the local curate and a grass-snake. Words were exchanged, and the long and the short of it is that Miss Maitland put herself on the London stage, complete with the offending grass-snake, two frogs, and an adder, not to mention all the necessities of life in a band-box. She seems a most intimidatingly practical young lady.

 

            Lady Lester, of course, divined her intentions immediately and followed her in her chaise with a sharp tongue and a strong desire to slap Miss Maitland, which was most unfortunately fulfilled on the very doorstep of the townhouse, attracting no small amount of attention. I myself was out of doors at the time, riding in the Park, and returned just in time to witness Miss Maitland, Lady Lester, and Miss Brown the governess thrashing out the niceties of where Miss Maitland was to stay until Sir James returned to London, for Lady Lester declared in the same breath that she would not have Miss Maitland under the same roof as her and that Miss Maitland was clearly in need of the stricter guidance she could provide.

 

            At this point, it seemed that a recurrence of hostilities was imminent and I dismounted, but found myself sadly unsteady on my feet. Luckily, Master James and Miss Elizabeth seized me before I fell over, and Master Nicholas took charge of my horse. There are clearly advantages to having Fiends From Below as neighbours, if they do not allow one to collapse in the street. I gave them half a crown to spend on sweets and share.

 

            The contretemps took some time to resolve, but I understand that Miss Maitland has now taken up residence next door and has effectively been returned to the schoolroom, a punishment that does not seem to have disconcerted her in the slightest. In either case, the shouting had ceased by about five o’clock, and Lady Lester has returned to Kent, where I devoutly hope she will remain.

 

            I am exhausted by my exertions in the Park. I daresay Jon was right, when he said I needed further time to rest.

 

_25 th July, 1815_

_[the handwriting in this entry is weak and shaky]_

 

            Visit from Doctor recommended by Mrs Rossington, who is for reasons best known to herself in Paris. Should not think this in the slightest eligible, but then recall: Jon’s fond parent. Anything possible.

 

            Doctor damnable. Poked and prodded and bled me of a full pint. I find myself quite unable to stand. Should like to throttle Doctor as well as Jon, but consider that I ought to spare Mrs Rossington, on account of her sex and her hospitality.

 

_26 th July, 1815_

 

            Woken from already broken rest at most unchristian hour this morning. Bangs, crashes and raised voices, all emanating from (literal) nest of vipers next door. Gather from Wilcox that Mr Temple, Dr Hart and Prof. Cutter – all apparently usual associates of Sir James – arrived at unseemly hour last night and were given usual rooms, hindered by the fact that, Miss Maitland not having anticipated their arrival, Mr Temple’s Bedroom was being employed as a Zoo. Mr Temple did not appreciate sudden discovery of adder and accidentally set off some form of explosive in his baggage.

 

            Did Not return to London to be persecuted by serpents, fishwives and Whinyates’ rockets.

 

_31 st July, 1815_

_[a stronger, less erratic hand]_

 

            Jermyn, the housekeeper, informs me that I have been ill and feverish, and will not have me get out of bed. Unsurprised. Will not be seeing that quacksalver again, but this is immaterial, as apparently in my illness I flung a chamber-pot at him and he flatly refuses to cross the threshold again. I have written to Mrs Rossington to apologise for alienating her physician.

 

            I received a visit from Hilary this afternoon. For a younger cousin and a staff officer, he could be much worse; at least after Waterloo he is not so green as he used to be, and he distinguished himself at La Haye Sainte, which does not surprise me in the slightest. He was always more competent than his father thought. He came to bear family sympathies, and regrets that they had not called before; it seems that Jon did not think to leave a forwarding address when he removed me from my lodgings in Bruxelles, and Hilary has been most industriously scouring Europe for my mortal remains. On the positive side, now my family do not think me to be languishing in the slums of Belgium. On the negative side, I will now be deluged in them. Hilary made this latter observation just as he was departing, which almost led me to do violence to him; unfortunately he is more nimble than I at present and fled before I could detain him.

 

            A Mrs Johnson also called – from Talbot the second footman’s description, most likely either a blackmailer or a spy. I desired Wilcox to say I was not at home, as I have no intention of entertaining either, not even on Jon’s behalf!

 

            Especially not on Jon’s behalf!

 

_1 st August, 1815_

 

            London sweltering and horrible. My aunt Becker threatening to remove me to the country, but damned if I will spend any time whatever in the company of my uncle. Daresay Grandmamma will come and remove me by main force, but that is a different matter entirely, as her home has always been an oasis of relative peace, if one discounts the Merrivilles as neighbours, which – having experienced the Lester ménage – I do.

           

            I would wonder why the Lesters have not removed themselves to the country, as Master Nicholas continues his cricketing depredations on the windows of every house around the square and their other neighbours must be growing incensed, but I have met Lady Lester and I think she requires rather more than a week to cool off.

 

_3 rd August, 1815_

 

            Visit from Charles Audley and fiancée. I have never admired Lady Barbara’s style of beauty, and I pray Audley knows what he’s doing. I certainly wouldn’t, were I in his shoes. God save us all from alarming women; between Mrs Harry Smith, Miss Stanton-Lacy, Lady Barbara, Lady Lester, Miss Maitland and Miss Lester, I have become acquainted with far too many of them lately.

 

            Audley says Jon spread it about Town that I am a cheerless invalid in need of comfort, and that Cousin Hilary has added weight to this rumour. He seemed amused, and Lady Barbara laughed most immoderately at my expression. Damn all confounded staff officers, and Jon too. I hope the letter I sent him blisters his ears and chases away his latest Cytherean; I have it on good authority (not Audley’s) that she is ruining him, and I doubt Mr Rossington will stand for dragging his adult stepson out of the River Tick.

 

_4 th August_

 

            Went riding in the Park at a more usual hour and a less brisk pace than before, in the hope that a little exercise will promote my recovery and alleviate my boredom. Encountered the Lester Schoolroom Party, which now more nearly resembles a Horde, considering the addition of Miss Maitland, and the accompaniment of Mr Temple, Dr Hart, and Prof. Cutter. The former is an awkward schoolboy, much enamoured of Miss Maitland, and the latter a crosspatch scholar who seemed disposed to monopolise and bore Miss Brown; however, I found Dr Hart pleasant and agreeable company, and have invited him to call at any time, as his home is in Leicestershire and he has few friends outside the Universities. (Moreover, I am short of company: Jon, the nuisance, will not be back in England these six months, I decline absolutely to condemn myself to my family’s company, and most of my Army acquaintance are bound and determined to refer to me as an invalid for their own amusement ~~or dead~~.) Though a scholar, he is not inactive, and is most animated when speaking of his journeys with Professor Cutter to outlandish corners of the world in pursuit of their studies; however, his attention was claimed by Master Nicholas, who wanted to know all about the savage temples of the Aztecs, and by Miss Elizabeth and Master James, whose preferred exercise is riding, and who wanted to know all about his hunting with the Pytchley. Mr Temple and Professor Cutter being engaged in animated and impenetrable argument, I found myself conversing with Miss Brown, at first largely out of politeness, but then with increasing pleasure. She is a young lady of medium height, about five-and-twenty or a little younger, with regular features, auburn hair, and brown eyes; I find her understanding to be more than adequate, and her intellect greater than might have been expected from a governess whose chief responsibility is preventing her charges from causing absolute havoc. Jon ~~, if you are reading this, I have already told you what I have thought of you, and do not be getting any ideas – I merely find Miss Brown to be a good conversationalist~~ ~~It is best not to encourage one’s friends in their iniquities~~ I cannot imagine why I am guarding against someone who will probably never set eyes on these miserable sheets, let alone read them; this is irrelevant. I enquired after her family, and it seems we are cousins of some sort through my aunt Fanshawe – her mother was a Fanshawe before her marriage. I have always liked my Fanshawe relatives. They show remarkable common sense, as does Miss Brown.

 

            Mind you, it is not difficult to show greater common sense than the party Miss Brown was supervising. Nicholas produced a home-made kite and flew it into Lady Worth’s curricle, startling her horses and almost causing his sister to be trampled; fortunately, I was in a position to drag her out of harm’s way and no great harm was done, except that Lady Worth’s passenger had hysterics, and I do believe Lady Worth was quite as exasperated as Nicholas with this turn of events.

 

_5 th August, 1815_

 

            Sir James has returned home. He appears a most affectionate father. He called on me, I think mostly to apprise himself of his new neighbour. I find him dry and brusque, as unlike his impetuous younger son as his charming older son, but the kind of man I can deal with. I should be pleased to have him as a commanding officer; he is not the kind to dither in giving his orders, and he has an incisive mind. I should think young James or Elizabeth have the same powers of concentration, but Nicholas is still too young and scatterbrained to show his intellect.

 

            ~~He asked me when I would return to the army and when I said that my recovery was in progress, he looked at me as if he knew I would never make it back to my regiment; I refuse absolutely to believe any such thing; my recovery is well in hand and soon I will be well enough to rejoin the 95 th; I defy Wellington himself to tell me otherwise~~

 

            Harry Smith left me his card this morning. I decline to believe that Harry Smith is sufficiently organised in matters non-military to have such a thing as a card; therefore, it is in all probability an impostor or his wife, more likely the latter. Juana Smith is a woman of the most considerable resource and great charm, and I have always welcomed her company, but Harry is likely to have dragged her off to Whittlesey, and in any case they would probably only scandalise my neighbours.

 

            ... I find myself wishing that they would arrive at this very moment, if only because I perceive that I am most dull, compared to my neighbours. I have neither a surfeit of wilful schoolroom misses, nor a parcel of ingenious schoolboys, nor a host of unusually lively scholarly gentlemen, and I am completely devoid of interesting woodland creatures. Indeed, I am almost tranquil.

 

_6 th August, 1815_

 

            It is ironic that I should have finished my last entry with the claim that I was tranquil. This morning, at only eight o’clock, I was besieged by the selfsame Mrs Johnson who called previously – except that this time she had a group of soldiers with her, over whom she appeared to have some authority! I recognised the soldiers as being from the Prince of Wales Own Volunteers by their Uniforms, but they did not include Sharpe (who, despite being wholly unrespectable and a thoroughgoing reprobate, would not have attempted to burst into an innocent man’s home before noon without Extremely Good Reason!) nor anyone, officers or other ranks, who I recognised. Wilcox, good man, sent Talbot running for me before continuing his confrontation with Mrs Johnson.

 

            I am ashamed to admit that when I first arrived on the scene my language may have been somewhat intemperate, and may have included the phrase ‘damned bloody nuisance’, and I do confess that the words “What the devil is going on?” may have passed my lips as I observed the party on my doorstep – or, more accurately, Jon’s doorstep.

 

            Mrs Johnson reprimanded me for my language, and informed me that she had a warrant to search the house; I demanded on whose authority did this warrant rest, and she said that it rested on the authority of the Prince Regent himself, which I not unnaturally take Leave to Doubt! Why should His Royal Highness interest himself in my doings, or even Jon’s – or even Jon’s mother and stepfather? I requested a reason, but she would give none that made any sense, and was in the midst of threatening me with criminal charges, physical violence or both when I heard one of the sash windows next door creak open most stealthily, as if someone wished to hear more clearly, and after a few moments Miss Lester, both her brothers and Miss Maitland erupted from the Lester front door.

 

            “I wish Brown would stir her stumps!” Nicholas said very loudly, causing Mrs Johnson’s head to snap round as if someone had slapped her.

 

            “Nicky, that is a most improper method of address for Miss Brown!” Miss Maitland said, without any real offence, and loudly ran back up the steps. “Claudia! Claudia! Do hurry!”

 

            Mrs Johnson and her crew of vagabonds (much as it Pains me to refer thus to any soldier of His Majesty’s Army) remained quite frozen in place; the spectacle was most remarkable. I was torn between amusement and concern that the children should have placed themselves in so much danger, including the young ladies.

 

            Young James then took notice of the commotion occurring on my doorstep, and stepped forward with the worst-acted prepared speech I have ever encountered. “This is a fine to-do! Good morning, Captain Ryan; your servant, Madame! Can I be of assistance?”

 

            “You would be better served by returning to your home or attending to your sisters, young sir,” Mrs Johnson snapped, with a nasty inflection on her last words that suggested she was more than capable of doing violence to Miss Maitland and Miss Lester.

 

             However, the latter is not easily cowed: she stepped forward with a truly martial look in her eye (I mean that in all justice: were she a boy, I should entreat her father most sincerely to buy that boy a pair of colours when he reached the proper age) and requested the pleasure of knowing what was going forward. I suspect this to have been staged as well, for when Mrs Johnson’s answer proved useless and rude Miss Elizabeth shared a look of the most theatrical surprise with her brother and declared that she could not make the matter out, and that the most proper course of action would be to fetch her father At Once, if the current noise and to-do had not already roused him.

 

             At almost the same moment as Miss Elizabeth disappeared inside, Miss Brown appeared, flushed and irritable at the sudden summons from the schoolroom party, and attended by Miss Maitland, who was explaining the disturbance in such piercing tones that they were rapidly followed by Dr Hart and Professor Cutter. I am surprised she did not rouse the entire square. I confess I was glad to see these gentlemen; the soldiers besieging me were growing increasingly ill-mannered, and I was concerned for the children’s welfare – with no weapon to hand, and six of them to one of me, there would have been little I could do to protect the young Lesters.

 

            “Children, what are you about?” Miss Brown said severely, saving her glares for Mrs Johnson and party. “This noise is unneighbourly. I daresay you have woken Captain Ryan.”

 

             “Oh not at all, Miss Brown,” young James said, “for he was already engaged when we came out; this lady and her party knocked him up at quite half-past seven.”

 

             “Nonsense, Jamie, for it is half-past eight now, and you will not have me believe that Captain Ryan has kept a lady standing on his doorstep for a full hour! Captain Ryan, is there some problem? some question? some concern? I know Mr Rossington has had much cause to complain about the Drains which these properties share, but surely you, madam, are not here to enquire about a trifling matter of Drains.”

 

             Miss Brown’s powers of acting and disdain are an example of excellence which her charges would do well to take up. Dr Hart stood mute but impressive beside her, and most importantly, he had brought out a small pistol with him, which I later learned was not loaded (he had been interrupted in the act of cleaning it, and had carelessly brought it with him) but which at least demonstrated that Mrs Johnson did not have quite all the firepower. Professor Cutter was temporarily stunned into speechlessness – an excellent thing, for I would have had to stun him myself, else; I do not think he would have helped my cause – and happily, at the very moment that Miss Brown finished her speech, Sir James arrived, bad-tempered and clutching this morning’s newspaper in one hand and a slice of toast in the other.

 

            “May I ask why there is such an unholy Riot and Rumpus on my doorstep?” he demanded, bending a cold eye on his children.

 

            “It is merely that Captain Ryan seems to be in some difficulties, sir,” young James said, and Miss Brown added, “I cannot say I know what is going on, Sir James, but I do not like it At All.”

 

            “You are not alone in that opinion, Miss Brown,” Sir James said, and finally turned to Mrs Johnson. “Ah: the famous Mrs Johnson, I see. Is there any particular reason for you to be alarming my household, troubling my neighbours, and otherwise disturbing the smooth running of the empire?”

 

           I personally would not choose to lump my small life in with the Smooth Running of the Empire, but doubtless Sir James is an authority on such matters.

 

           “I have a warrant for the search of this house!” Mrs Johnson snapped. She clearly felt, as I did, that matters were getting somewhat out of hand.

 

           Sir James raised his eyebrows and handed his toast to his youngest son, who obligingly finished it off. “On what grounds?”

 

          “Mr and Mrs Rossington are suspected of treasonous activities, deleterious to the wellbeing of the Empire,” Mrs Johnson informed him.

 

          “Treason!” I cried. “This is nonsense – why, I serve alongside their son; he is as loyal an officer as you will meet anywhere, and I will vouch that his parents are as loyal to the Crown!”

 

          “Familial connections must be disregarded, Captain,” Sir James said dryly. “Mrs Johnson, I would be obliged if you would allow me to peruse this... interesting... document.”

 

           He did not phrase it as a question and it surprised me little that Mrs Johnson gave up the fatal piece of paper. Sir James then examined it in detail, making many disapproving noises and unimpressed faces, which his children found highly comic. Even Miss Brown struggled to repress a smile and Dr Hart was openly grinning.

 

           “Well,” Sir James concluded, “I cannot see that this is legal at all. If I were you, Mrs Johnson, I should have the clerk who drew this up seconded to the Minister you most dislike, for there is no clear cause, no evidence alluded to, and finally, nothing to suggest that the house can be searched in the absence of owners or tenants. In fact, this is nothing more than an impressive-looking document backed up by five or six rifles and your own considerable powers of persuasion, madam. Captain Ryan may be a friend of the family, and a friend in good standing, but he is not empowered to act for them and you have no right to harass him.”

 

            It was perhaps unfortunate for her future prospects in this Neighbourhood that all Mrs Johnson could think of to do was to Glower at me, Snort like a Displeased Dragon, and Snatch her false warrant from Sir James’ hands with a warning to us both that she would return, for Nicholas, Miss Maitland and young James all giggled like the merest children at her words. I myself struggled to keep my countenance. I cannot imagine that a more exaggerated villain ever trod the boards at Drury Lane.

 

            All that truly matters, however, is that she left, and she took her bunch of rogues with her. Sir James merely sniffed as he observed her departure, and commented that it was all a great nuisance, and that now he would have to bestir himself in preventing Mrs Johnson from doing any more harm than she had already done. Professor Cutter instantly began to bemoan the fact that he had been interrupted in some form of scientific endeavour, Dr Hart began to pacify him, and Miss Brown uttered a few bracing sentences to her charges in Italian, none of which were understood, and hauled them all inside for a morning of remedial lessons as a punishment.

 

            Once all the noise had died down, I discovered Darracott – the unspeakable wretch – standing halfway down the street in an attitude of perfect amazement. Mrs Johnson evidently had not bothered him, which is unsurprising. Brick walls and angry boars would do well not to bother Darracott; he is the mountain of the 95th, and equally immovable. I only hoped that he would not begin to affect an exaggerated Yorkshire accent again, his usual trick in company he wishes to enliven, and give ~~Miss Brown~~ the Lesters an entirely false impression of ~~me~~ my regiment.

 

            “Why, Tom, lad, I thought you were living a dull and retired life!” he cried, in almost normal tones – to my great relief.

 

            “Such things cannot be helped when you are occupying Jonathan Lyle’s family home,” I said sharply, and told him to come in, for I was in need of breakfast and was not prepared to eat it in the street. Nor, for that matter, was I prepared to remonstrate with him for getting me so appallingly drunk on the night of the 21st in the open street.

 

            I have written to Mr and Mrs Rossington, and also to Jon, in order to apprise them of the apparent danger to their home and reputations (not that I think Jon will be in the slightest concerned by the latter, but I think he would prefer not to be prevented from using his London home).

 

_7 th August, 1815_

 

            Until yesterday I had no notion how calm and tranquil my life has hitherto been. Wars, Jon’s worst excesses, my aunts’ ravening progeny, my sisters’ London Seasons, all upheavals I have known pale into Insignificance.

 

            Having found myself unable to sleep, I was sitting up taking advantage of Jon’s stepfather’s excellent library and even more excellent wine-cellar when I was disturbed by Wilcox, who informed me that Mr Temple had come round from next door to request my assistance, and that there was a Most Peculiar Light shining from the upper windows of Lester’s house. I find that I have had quite enough peculiarity from Lester’s house, but Wilcox seemed sufficiently concerned that I got up, possessed myself of a pair of Jon’s duelling pistols and some extra shot of the appropriate calibre, and went to investigate.

 

            Mr Temple was standing in the hall, hopping about like a diseased grasshopper or a nervous junior officer (the two have a good deal in common). “Captain Ryan!” he cried as soon as he saw me. “I feared you were asleep!”

 

            “I’m not now,” I said. “What is so urgent?” (My words may have benefited from a little added emphasis, but my language is no stronger than that of Prof. Cutter and Mr Temple did not look at all shocked.)

 

            “There has been a terrible, terrible... accident.” Mr Temple fell silent, as if he had run out of excuse before he had run out of peccadillo (also common in nervous junior officers). “Sir James asked that you come at once!”

 

            I spent a brief moment considering the wisdom of obliging Sir James. Although I could not forget his services of the previous day, this was beyond the bounds of politeness.

 

            “Miss Brown particularly requested your presence,” Mr Temple added, which naturally put quite a different face on the matter, even if his design was quite transparent.

 

            I sighed.  “Lead on, MacDuff.”

 

            The scene in Lester’s house was passing strange. I had never been inside, despite my acquaintance with the family, and was most intrigued by it. I have been in too many miserable billets to assume that a man’s quarters reflect his personality, but someone else’s home must always be an object of curiosity. In this case, it was not the Décor that excited my interest, but the Demeanour; on the lower floors, where there was no Peculiar Light in evidence, a stifled silence was the order of the day and all the servants had been banished. Above, an equally eerie atmosphere prevailed, with an added undercurrent of tension; however, it was at least occupied. I met Dr. Hart at the top of the stairs and discovered that, although sending the ladies and children elsewhere was thought to be ineligible because impossible to explain and lack of appropriate refuge, they had barricaded themselves inside the schoolroom, and Miss Brown had provided herself with a very serviceable pistol, a memento of her late brother’s army service.

 

            “Brother? Pistol?” said I, in much the same tone. Miss Brown’s family is, of course, not my concern, and I have great faith in her cool nature and grace under pressure, but I could not help feeling a slight Qualm at the thought of her attempting to defend herself with a pistol she might not be familiar with, despite owning it.

 

            “O yes,” Dr. Hart said casually, “her brother was of the Devil’s Own and fell at Badajoz. Perhaps you may have known him? I understand his given name was Titus. Miss Brown is a very fair shot.”

 

            “Stephen!” Prof. Cutter shouted from inside a room immediately behind Dr. Hart, and Dr. Hart and Mr Temple both instantly bolted for the closed door and burst through. What use either of them thought they were going to be while standing in my line of fire I do not know.

 

            As the door opened, I saw the Peculiar Light of which Wilcox had complained – bright and glaring, reminding me of nothing so much as lightning, except that lightning is not so steady, nor does it whirl in intersecting shards, none of which ever seemed to contradict.

 

            “What in the name of God is that,” I said, and I make no apologies for my intemperate language.

 

            “Have a care to your pistol,” Dr. Hart advised, which was no answer at all. “It is magnetic.”

 

            “Look!” Mr Temple said, beaming, and performed what was evidently a favourite party trick – he pulled a loose button off his coat and let it go, and it shot straight into the Peculiar Light.

 

            I have not spent so considerable a Portion of my adult life in the Peninsula without learning to give a good, strong opinion of Unwelcome Persons, Circumstances or Objects. I made use of some of the foulest Spanish and Portuguese Oaths ever to cross an Englishman’s lips. “What is it?” I added when I was done. “And give me a plain answer, if you please!”  


            “It is a window into Time,” said Prof. Cutter, “and there is no call to abuse it in heathen languages, man.” His Scottish accent becomes far stronger when he has found something at which to take offence.

 

            “It is a damned bloody nuisance which has got me out of bed,” said I, stretching the truth no further than was necessary, “and which looks to me more than dangerous. Where is Sir James? Next you will tell me it has eaten him.”

 

            “Nothing of the sort,” Prof. Cutter said. “He has gone to Horse Guards to demand reinforcements. We did not anticipate this.”

 

            “And what the Devil are we to do until he returns?”

 

            “You may guard it. I intend to enter it.”

 

            “What! have you lost your mind?” I exclaimed, and was joined by Dr. Hart and Mr Temple, who respectively begged him not to do anything of the kind for Helen would not be there and told him that there was little point since he had already been through and there was nothing of particular interest.

 

            “SILENCE!” I shouted after some little time of this, and was gratified when silence fell. “Mr Temple, you will oblige me by not entering Dangerous Portals without reinforcements in the future, I should not wish to explain it to your mother –”

 

            “You would not have to do anything of the kind!” Mr Temple expostulated. I am sadly aware that this is not true. In the past, letters and visits of condolence have frequently been left to me, for someone must do it and it is not a duty anyone relishes – and it would be exactly like Sir James to somehow make it my responsibility.

 

            “I said silence! Prof. Cutter, you will do likewise. I have not the slightest notion what the hazards of these portals are, but I dislike them extremely. Dr. Hart, you will now, please, explain to me who Helen is.”

 

            There was a very awkward pause, which Prof. Cutter broke by announcing in a most belligerent tone of voice that Helen was his Wife, missing these Eight Years.

 

            I should rather have suspected any missing wife of mine to have been Abducted by Boney’s Agents, rather than Swallowed Up by Mysterious Portals. It seems by far the more likely explanation. I requested Prof. Cutter to tell me what the Devil he meant by that.

 

            “Helen and I were resident in Oxford eight years ago,” Prof. Cutter said. “We had married some years before. Helen used to attend the same lectures as I did as an undergraduate – under strict supervision, of course, and merely for interest, not study. She was the daughter of one of the professors and had some most fascinating and radical notions on the science of Geology. In any case, we had chosen to take a holiday near the Forest of Dean, where Helen’s Widowed Aunt resided. We argued during the holiday, and Helen joined a picnic party to the Forest while I remained at home in order to allow tempers to subside. The party returned in disorder some hours later, saying that Helen had somehow wandered away from her friends and had disappeared completely.” He paused, and a look of real distress came across his face. “You may understand how distraught I was.”

 

            I felt a pang of sympathy. “Yes, but I have yet to understand how all this is connected with – with...” I gestured at the Peculiar Light with my pistol, and was displeased to discover that Mr Temple’s demonstration of its Magnetic Properties had rather underestimated its strength; I almost lost my weapon. This would have been inconvenient, especially as it was in fact Jon’s. 

 

            “Helen had some very radical...” The professor trailed off. “She had some... unconventional... convictions.”

 

            “She formed a theory of Evolution in which God played no part,” Dr. Hart said bluntly.

 

            This was startling news indeed. I have never been a very religious man, but I can see no mechanism by which the world could have been created that does not involve some form of Higher Being. “How so?” I said, foreseeing that the conversation was likely to take a highly scientific turn, and regretting it.

 

            Dr. Hart paused and glanced at Prof. Cutter. “Helen’s theories were her own. She did not discuss them in detail with me or with any other student, and when she attempted to make them known to the scientific establishment there was – something of an uproar – so little more than the broad outline is known.” He proceeded to give me a brief and complicated explanation, of which I understood exactly nothing, and which I cannot believe to be nothing more than a broad outline. “She was a most unconventional lady, far from mealy-mouthed, and many took offence at her manner as well as her suggestions. Until recently, we believed her to be dead, but... these Portals lead to the past, Captain Ryan. A past more ancient and alien than anyone can imagine. Hutton’s plutonist theory is nothing to it. Helen would have welcomed the chance to study the past for herself and confirm her theories with open arms.”

 

            “And these Portals are most common in the Forest of Dean,” said Prof. Cutter quietly.

 

            I was at a loss for words, and Mr Temple was fidgeting with some form of Scientific Instrument, so no help was to be forthcoming from that quarter. What can be said of a woman who combines otherwise praiseworthy intellectual pursuits with apparent arrogance, secretiveness, and ill-mannered behaviour, then compounds these three solecisms with running away and disappearing entirely for almost a decade? Moreover, what can be said of her in front of what appears to be her most devoted husband? For a panicked moment, I wished Hilary were present; he has never been known to give offence to anyone but his father, and his father would take offence at a Christmas gift. Hilary would have known exactly what to say.

 

            “So you see I must go through,” Prof. Cutter cried. “It is imperative – I could not bear for Helen to suffer one moment –”

 

            I informed him that if he were to enact me Cheltenham tragedies, I would drag him downstairs and kick him out of the house, where he could harm no-one but himself. At this point, he attempted to strike me, whereupon I struck him, and rendered him unconscious.

 

            “Bloody fool,” Dr. Hart said, in reference to Prof. Cutter. “Connor, take him downstairs, Miss Brown will know what to do with him.”

 

            “How?” Mr Temple said, staring open-mouthed.

 

            “Do not ask me idiotish questions,” Dr. Hart said, with the first sign of temper I have yet seen from him. “Captain Ryan and I must remain to guard the Portal, and besides, Captain Ryan’s shoulder is still injured.”

 

            “That does not signify,” I interrupted, mortified.

 

            “You are in a fair way to becoming as ludicrous as Nick, Ryan, of course it signifies. Drag him downstairs by his feet if you must, Connor.”

 

            “His head shall bump on the stairs!” Mr Temple objected, appalled.

 

            “I do not think it will do him material harm!”

 

            At this inopportune moment, several small creatures waddled out of the Portal, causing Mr Temple to jump and shriek and myself and Dr. Hart to blaspheme. I fired automatically, eliciting another squeak from Mr Temple but missing one of the creatures by a bare inch, but Dr. Hart put out a hand and restrained me.

 

            “I do not think they are dangerous,” he said cautiously.

 

            I made use of some more foul language. “What are they?”

 

            “I wish we knew, Ryan,” Dr. Hart said. “We have not encountered these creatures before in our adventures within the Portals, nor do I know of any equivalent in the modern world.”

 

            The creatures were small, rather like plump lizards with small tusks and smooth, mottled greenish-grey skin; in body shape they recalled pictures of Beavers that I had seen from the American colonies, and they made small chirruping noises. They did not look like a threat, but I nonetheless deemed it expedient that Prof. Cutter’s prone body should be removed to some safer locale.

 

            I requested that Mr Temple carry this out, while Dr. Hart and I, as the armed members of the party, guarded the creatures and attempted to persuade them to return to their own time. Dr. Hart added his weight to my own entreaties, and after some moments, Mr Temple seized Prof. Cutter’s feet and began to drag him clumsily towards the door, exciting the interest of the creatures, who nibbled at him as if he were an unusual variety of log.

 

            “No! Shoo!” Mr Temple said, and waved his hands at them ineffectually. Hart and I tried to bar them from Prof. Cutter, but they were small, agile and most persistent and it was very difficult.

 

            Then Mr Temple opened the door, and I think I am right in saying that all Hell broke loose. The creatures’ chirruping sounds increased in volume, and as one they charged for the door, trampling Prof. Cutter, and scattered. A number went down the stairs, while others fled through other doors on the same floor that had been left ajar.

 

            “Oh God, what are we to do?” Mr Temple said, and Dr. Hart and I stared at each other, at a complete loss for words.

 

            “Well, first things first,” Dr. Hart said. “Let us take Nick downstairs so that Miss Brown and the children may watch over him while he is unconscious. Then I think we should procure some sturdy baskets and set about... a recapture.”

 

            There was a long pause that suggested he thought this would prove to be a difficult undertaking, and then, by common consent, we began the work of transferring Prof. Cutter to the schoolroom. Miss Brown opened the door when I called through it, and (to her credit) neither screamed nor fainted at the sight of the professor unconscious with an immense Bruise on his forehead, but handed her pistol to young James and requested that we lay Prof. Cutter on the sofa, while sending Nicholas to fetch pillows and blankets from a store they had laid in when they retreated to the schoolroom and the girls to fetch her box of medical supplies and a basin of water.

 

            “We heard a confounded Racket just now,” she said, in steady tones and sharper language than I had yet heard her use. “I am to understand that Sir James has not yet returned? And that something has come through the Portal?”

 

            “You are familiar with the Portals, Miss Brown?” said I, greatly surprised.

 

            She gave me a look of distinct annoyance, wrung out a cloth in the basin of water Miss Maitland held, and laid it over Prof. Cutter’s forehead. “Of course, Captain Ryan. My occupation is not exclusively that of a governess; I am very fond of codes and puzzles, and Sir James sometimes employs me as a secretary to help him execute his more secret work.” Nicholas brought the pillows and blankets, and she began to make Prof. Cutter more comfortable. Although I was confused and reeling, I felt a most unaccustomed pang of jealousy.

 

            ~~Be silent, Jon, it is none of your concern.~~

 

            “You are not, I hope,” said Miss Brown severely, “one of those men that think females should have No Intellectual Capacity Whatever.”

 

            “Certainly not,” I said, feeling suitably braced. Miss Brown is much more formidable than I had hitherto suspected.

 

            “Captain Ryan,” Dr. Hart interrupted, with a look of extreme patience on his face, “I have procured some baskets – Miss Brown, the creatures are small and beaverlike, they do not appear to pose any immediate threat, but if they come in here, set the children to catching them.”

 

            I left the schoolroom with Dr. Hart, who immediately rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Now,” he said, “Connor has gone to fetch some scraps from the kitchens which we may use as bait, but I suggest we begin with a thorough search of the upper floor. I know I saw some of them flee into the rooms close by.”

 

            “Dr. Hart,” I said, when he had finished outlining this congenial plan. “Does this happen often?”

 

            “Very frequently,” said Hart in a most casual manner, “but the creatures are usually far more dangerous.”

           

            I said nothing at all, but allowed myself to be stationed at the top of the stairs with a basket in order to catch the creatures, which Hart intended to flush from their hiding places in the rooms nearby. More dangerous? One cannot help wondering how dangerous, and how common these Portals truly are. I imagine it would be impossible to know of even a tenth of them, as in logic some must flicker and die in sparsely populated corners of the country without ever being detected, but people must surely be aware of the threat? And yet, how easy to dismiss – tales of strange and fantastic creatures, preying upon a neighbourhood for a space and then vanishing, or of shards of light, dancing in the air. Why, if I had been told such tales but a day ago, I should have dismissed them out of hand. Or, if they came from Talgarth, enquired who he bought his wine from, for the purposes of avoiding so flawed a purveyor.

 

            While I was entertaining these disquieting thoughts, a small creature was chased out of a room by Hart, and I fielded it neatly enough before thrusting it into the basket. It squealed and protested most heartily, but I evaded its attempts to gnaw on me with reasonable ease.

 

            “One down,” Hart said cheerfully, “God knows however many to go. I suppose you did not happen to note how many escaped the Portal?”

 

            “No,” I said, keeping a lid on the creature with the utmost difficulty. Much more of this, I knew, would put an unbearable strain on my arm and shoulder; and though I have tried to keep up an appearance of health and strength I know I will be weak for some time yet. I had no particular desire to set back my recovery, but honour demanded that I assist Hart as well as I could – especially considering that I had rendered Prof. Cutter unconscious. I could only hope for reinforcements.

             

            “Nor did I,” Hart admitted. “And Ryan, I have bad news – they can burrow.”         

 

            “Burrow,” cried I, “through solid wall?”

 

            “Ay, through solid wall,” came the shout from the next room to be cleared, and queer noises such as beaters make when they wish to startle birds from the underbrush. My heart sank into my boots.

 

            By the time we heard the racket in the square that betokened Sir James’ return with reinforcements, we had only just cleared this first floor which the creatures had fled into, and disquieting noises from the room in which the Portal was shut indicated that other and perhaps more dangerous creatures had appeared. Hart said firmly that we should not borrow trouble, but must wait until reinforcements arrived. I felt that, with the state my arm and shoulder were in, we could only hope that trouble did not borrow us. I did not anticipate that Mr Temple would be of any use in helping with the defence of the ladies and children from any more vicious creature, especially as he and the children were now chasing one of the small beaver-like animals around Lady Lester’s favourite parlour, making the most amazing riot without making any progress.

 

            “Oh, thank God,” Hart said when he heard the noise, just as he was assisting me to fasten the basket’s lid. “Thomas, let us take this downstairs, they can deal with these blasted creatures. Is your arm quite well?”

 

            “My arm will do well enough,” I said. Unfortunately, I spoke with little truth, and the look in Hart’s eye suggested that he knew it. We had progressed to Christian names over the hours since I had arrived, on the grounds that no-one who had assisted another to drag an animal that had escaped through a hole in time and chewed through walls out of Master Nicholas’ closet (a place of terror in its own right) could reasonably continue on formal terms. Such a period of concentrated activity had probably also permitted Hart to observe my continuing weakness, much though I regretted it.

 

            We hefted the basket and carried it downstairs – Hart taking the greater part of the weight; I was making heavy weather of it – only to be confronted by Sir James’ butler opening the door to, of all people, Cousin Hilary and a detachment of the Lilywhites!! The children, Mr Temple and Miss Maitland burst out of the sitting room through which they had been chasing a creature, and Miss Maitland, conscious of an imperfect state of dress, retired in confusion – although not, I fancy, before Hilary noticed her.

 

            “Hilary!” I exploded, dropping one end of the basket onto the floor. “What is all this?”

 

            “You are acquainted with Captain Ryan, Lieutenant Becker?” Sir James said in a bored tone, entering his own hall with the air of one who expects to find at the very least a corpse in it, but considers the occasion a tedious one nonetheless.

 

            Hilary blushed most prodigiously. He hates to have his family connections mentioned. “Yes, Sir James – we are cousins. Tom, where is the danger?”

 

            He was answered by one of the beaver-like creatures, which Miss Brown had named ‘rascals’ – the full appellation being ‘rascals who resemble my charges more clearly than I should care to admit!’ – fleeing out of the sitting room between the children’s legs and making a determined play for the half-open front door.

 

            “Grab it!” bellowed young James, and Nicholas, obedient to his brother’s order, flung himself full-length on the floor, trapping the creature very neatly. Miss Maitland applauded from a discreet distance inside the sitting-room, and Nicholas, arms full of squirming creature, beamed proudly up at his father.

 

            “Was that not done well?” Miss Elizabeth called, with a wholehearted approbation she does not often show her younger brother.

 

            “I certainly perceive that my children have not been materially harmed by this irruption into our pleasant and peaceful family life,” Sir James said dryly. “Come, Nicky, give up your prize to Captain Ryan and Dr. Hart; I collect that they have gathered quite the menagerie in that commodious basket.”

 

            “Yes,” said Dr. Hart, “but they keep clambering out, and we calculate that there are at least six more left.”

 

            “And Father – I am most afraid that they chew holes in walls,” young James added, with an apologetic air.

 

            Sir James inhaled strongly through his nose. “I suppose it is only to be expected. I do trust that nothing more dangerous has emerged?”

 

            “We can hardly be sure,” Hart said. “We locked the door upon it, but in the attempt to recapture the other creatures before they escaped – we lacked sufficient resources to guard it more closely. We have heard noises, but nothing that indicates a very large creature.”

 

            “In that case...” Sir James turned to my cousin, and bowed slightly. “Lieutenant Becker, I must ask you to search the house and secure the Portal.”

 

            “Portal?” Hilary said, looking quite at sea. I experienced a strong urge to laugh.

 

            “Hole in time,” Sir James said, in tones of boredom. “This was explained to you, Lieutenant Becker.”

 

            “Of course, Sir James,” Hilary said, casting me a Speaking Look. It uttered volumes: How Do You Put Up With This Man, He Is Your Very Neighbour and What Am I To Do With This was quite the least of it.

 

            I coughed. “Perhaps, Sir James, the ladies and children might remove next door. I will engage for it that there are no Portals there, and they may rest in tolerable safety. I feel that some among us –” I let my eyes fall on Nicholas, who grinned unrepentantly – “are becoming overexcited.”

 

            “As usual,” Miss Brown said, composedly descending the stairs with a firm hand on Prof. Cutter’s arm – he might have thought that he was escorting her, but it was plain to all that she was restraining him – “Captain Ryan has much the right of it. Sir James, if you will allow it, I think it unexceptionable.”

 

            “Claudia,” Miss Maitland said from the sitting-room, in a state of high agitation.

 

            “I have not forgotten you, Abigail. Jamie, run upstairs and fetch the others’ outdoor things – at once, please. Abby will want her blue pelisse. And my reticule as well, thank you – you will find it in the schoolroom.” Miss Brown released Prof. Cutter, who staggered slightly; Dr. Hart caught him firmly by the arm, and nodded his thanks to Miss Brown.

 

            Hilary, with a keen sense for the most important points at hand, sent a fully-armed Guardsman with young James and sidled over so that he might attempt to discuss my health and the state of my wound. Having had the benefit of years of practice, I was able to ignore him.

 

            Sir James gave Prof. Cutter a look of mild distaste. “Are you indisposed, Professor?”

 

            I gathered that Sir James suspected Prof. Cutter of inebriation and, feeling in some sort guilty, spoke up. “Prof. Cutter was determined to enter the Portal, Sir James. We had a slight disagreement, and I found myself impelled to knock him out before he could become a danger to himself.”

 

            “Prof. Cutter is always a danger to himself, it is the nature of the man,” Sir James observed as young James and the Guardsman came rattling back downstairs, fully equipped with the children’s outdoor clothes; young James himself was already fully dressed. The Guardsman handed Miss Brown her reticule most courteously, while young James went to the relief of his cousin, and I prepared myself to receive two ladies and several children into a house that had not known either for some time, Jon having been of age by the time Mr and Mrs Rossington bought the house, and Mrs Rossington having been absent for three months.

 

            I felt some considerable concern. I am not fitted for Society’s world of polite entertainment and small talk. Give me a battlefield, and I am perfectly cognizant of the manner in which I must go on, and at assemblies, balls and other amusements I can acquit myself tolerably well – my mother’s training in what was due to the Polite World having been my first experience of Drill. It is when interactions are more personal that I find myself uncertain of how to proceed. Hilary, by contrast, is never uncertain. That evening I wished most heartily that he had been called upon to entertain the schoolroom party, and I to clear the house of vermin.

 

            All passed off reasonably well, however. Miss Elizabeth fell asleep on her cousin’s shoulder, and Master Nicholas with his head on his sister’s lap, which I am sure he will deny if ever taxed with it. Miss Maitland and Miss Brown remained awake and alert, though Master James dozed a little. We heard nothing to disquiet us but a shot or two, which we later learnt was fired by accident, and I assured them that if there had been any great danger we would have heard far more. At about half-past three Sir James returned to collect his family, and I and Hilary assisted him; Hilary carried Miss Elizabeth, who remained sound asleep, and walked beside Miss Maitland, with Miss Brown’s careful supervision. (He cannot have conceived a partiality for her. Surely not.)

 

            I managed to offer a space to sleep out the rest of the night to the Lilywhites, but after Hilary had turned them loose for the remainder of the night and day none but Hilary took me up on my offer. And it should be noted, in light of what I have written above, that he was disgustingly alert at breakfast and talked of nothing but Miss Maitland. I have not the slightest notion what has happened to his reserve, but I wish it had not happened at breakfast.

              

            My arm and shoulder ache badly; I did not sleep well, and am still exhausted. It does not help that Sir James, being a man of dispatch, is already effecting repairs to his home, and the craftsmen make a most confounded racket, rendering it impossible for anyone to sleep.

 

_9 th August, 1815_

 

            Brief visit from Harry and Juana Smith yesterday – they left this morning - their Peregrinations around the country to stay with family and friends almost beggar belief. (I say almost. Harry and Juana much like Jon: no telling what they will do next. Moreover, fair to suppose that Harry’s career will take him out of England for another God knows how many years, and Juana will not be parted from him; it is fair to assume they will not see England and Family again for some time.) Juana charming and vivacious; Harry lively as ever. Juana’s English has improved out of all knowledge, so that when we met with the Lester schoolroom party in the Park we were all able to converse tolerably; Miss Brown discovered within moments that Juana had been present at Badajoz, inside the besieged city, which precipitated a slight awkwardness, but Juana does not tolerate awkwardness and they were soon chatting comfortably. Harry and I talked with young James and Elizabeth; Miss Maitland had been specifically charged with preventing Nicholas from flying kites, making friends with strange dogs, and running off and alarming Miss Brown, so was otherwise occupied.        

 

             Sir James is making preparations for his family to be conveyed to Kent in a few days’ time that they might join Lady Lester, and Miss Brown talks of taking a month’s well-earned leave to visit her cousin and his young family in the West Country. I confess I will miss the Fiends From Below, but then, I shall not be in London much longer myself. Grandmamma sent an Express at a most Wretched hour of last night (Fortunately, Harry and myself remained awake, talking over Old Times, the Regiment, and Whatever Is To Be Done About Hugo Darracott – Nothing, in my opinion, he will resolve himself, and his family connections are none of my concern.) This effusion, aside from addressing me as Tommy, scolded me for not informing her of my precise whereabouts the second I entered the country and commanded me to the Dower House at my first convenience, by which she means her first convenience. Nothing will do for her but I should get on the first stage to Bath, from whence she will send John Coachman to retrieve me. This is all high-handed tyranny, but I confess I should be glad to see my family again – with the dishonourable exception of uncle Becker.

 

                I do not suppose I shall return to Mrs Rossington’s house again, except as a guest. However, I have received a note from Sir James, requesting that – on my next visit to the Metropolis – I call upon him, for he has a proposition to make me with reference to the Phenomenon I observed in his home on the night of the 6th.  What it may be, I do not know, but there can be no harm in finding out... at my leisure. I must suppose it to be some offer of Employment, and if my arm does not heal, and I am unable to return to the 95th... but to think so is foolish. All will be well. I have suffered worse before.

_Post-Scriptum, at yet another regrettable hour - the morning of the 10 th:_

 

            Family, if know what is good for them, will curb delight in late-night expresses – expensive and distressing to feelings of recipient. Keep expecting to hear of family tragedy, but no, was merely sister Alice. It was she, not Hilary, who gave Grandmamma my direction, and she wished to tender her apologies and assure me that I would not be Bored, for Wilts. is not so Thin of Company as one might suspect. (Not so close to Bath, no, I should think Not – but I have no interest in Society and Alice knows it.) She speaks in particular of Mr and Mrs Edwards-Ffolliot, who have been talking this age of a Cousin Claudia who they have finally persuaded to visit them, and who had lived in the village near the Dower House as a Child, before old Mr Brown died and the Entail cut out Claudia and her Sister.

 

            Of all unlooked-for benisons, this is the best. I think myself most fortunate that Jon dragged me to his family home and deposited me here.

 

            ~~But if I catch him, I will still wring his scrawny neck.~~


End file.
